


svelte

by arisutocrat



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 10:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6653422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arisutocrat/pseuds/arisutocrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talk about this and that. Ansel isn't too sure himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	svelte

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to show my senpai a little bit of how a couple of my OCs interact. This is a would-be epilogue to the story I have outlined in my head. There aren't really any spoilers, but it doesn't tell you much about the setting or the plot that occurs before the epilogue. I just wanted to play this dialogue out. I don't think I really did my characters any justice. I kinda BS'd it OTL.
> 
> But anyway, the money these two talk about is prize money from a contest Fin won. Ansel is sort of her boss atm because of circumstances I can't disclose since I haven't written it in a word doc yet.

~svelte~

Ansel ran his hand through his hair and craned his neck upwards, taking delight in the rare, soothing breeze during a sweltering summer in the Taladorian capital. He approached the parlor balcony to see wisps of burgundy swayed by the same current.

Both her elbows were perched on the balcony rail, which the rest of her body leaned intently against. With equal intensity, she stared at a slip of parchment, an invoice of some sort. She thumbed the corner of the paper idly. Behind her expressionlessness, Ansel felt she was surely machinating her next volley against a mortal enemy with all the precision of a bird of prey.

She rested her head on her forearms, as if she were fatigued like a normal person would be after the festival ordeal. Ansel cocked his head, or so Findabhair imagined, as he said, “Money troubles still?”

“No trouble where there’s no money,” she said. “This discount at the food market expired today.”

“Scrapping for meal coupons again? Odd since you’re financially set for at least half a year in the city,” he paused. “The ritzy part of the city, at that.” He smirked at her, not that she could see. “But it’s a shame you won’t be staying longer. I would have personally given you a tour of Vega Mosta nightlife.”

Findabhair lifted her head from her forearms and swung – almost twirling around to face him. She set her hands back on the railing, her elbows propped up in a shrug. And, without missing a beat she replied, “I spent it all on a whore and a greeting card.”

Ansel furrowed his brows, perplexed. For what seemed like an interminable break in the flow of his ever-stimulating exchanges betwixt Findabhair and himself, he stood there and picked apart her words for any double entendre. Admitting to no one but himself that he had exhausted all possibilities, he discarded his usual amicable parlance, which, _Oh, gods_ he found himself doing frequently these days. “I somehow have a hard time believing that.”

“It's the truth,” stated Fin, rather flatly. She redirected her gaze at the marble city below.

“Well,” he scoffed in disbelief. “Whatever’s the case, your secrets are no fun~” His eyes narrowed down, as she was a petite thing. A puzzle he couldn’t exactly work his mind around. And it was a shame he wouldn’t get more chances after she was gone for good, off trekking the bogs up north with or without funds and not stopping until she passed out from low blood sugar.

“I’m staying in town,” Fin said. “At least for now.”

She looked up to meet his eyes. “If it’s not too much trouble to keep me on the payroll, I would like to keep working with you.”

_With you_. He was unsure of where de stood with her, but that didn’t stop him from instinctively saying, “Yes. I’d like that.”


End file.
